


Magic Touch

by faithlethalhane



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pushing Daisies AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlethalhane/pseuds/faithlethalhane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Person of Interest/Pushing Daisies AU: If the only person you ever gave a damn about was dead - like actually, literally, completely stone dead - and you had one last chance to say goodbye, would you take it? Just wake them up for a minute and then let them die all over again? Or would you crack under the pressure and tear a tiny hole in reality just to keep them around longer, at a price, of course: you could never touch them again, else they go back to being as dead as when this whole thing started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Basically if you never saw the show, Ned the pie maker can touch dead things to bring them back to life for a minute with no consequences and if he touches the alive again thing again then it goes back to being dead. so. yeah. thats all you gotta know.
> 
> Part i is with shaw as the pie maker and part ii is if root were. Enjoy!

i.

You _knew_ this was a bad idea, God, it’s only been five minutes and she’s already giving you those stupid one liners. _Five. Minutes_.

You would know. You’ve been counting. Five minutes and seventeen seconds past the minute you were _supposed_ to have given her.

But come on, what were you supposed to do, _really_? She had just been lying there, so pretty and…well, nice looking. And fucking smirking. Because of course even Death couldn’t wipe that smug look off her face.

How could any human person _not_ cave, just to hear _one_ more round of flirty banter from those stupid smug lips?

But now you are _seven_ rounds of flirty banter in and she just keeps leaning so _close_ like she always used to. Punctuating her words with an inch of space, gone, another word, another inch, until you remember exactly what’s at stake and you have to rip yourself from her trance.

What had she even said? Doesn’t matter. Something sexual probably.

“Somebody missed me,” you retort, rolling your eyes to cover the fact that you almost liked that. It also gives you enough of a reason to retract yourself from her breathing space.

You unlock your door, and Bear immediately barks and runs for it.

“Bear!” she exclaims excitedly, tackling him in a hug. He stretches his snout over her shoulder to try nudging you, but you take a step back.

“Blijf,” you order, and he whines, dropping his weight into her shoulder instead.

Root frowns. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Can we just actually get…inside,” you ask, pushing the air as though it might actually move her.

Reluctantly she stands and ushers the dog into the flat. You lock the door. And the dead bolt. And the second dead bolt.

“Have you gotten more paranoid in your old age, Sameen?” she teases with a biting grin as she takes in her surroundings.

“Curiousity killed the cat,” you mutter, going right for the fridge.

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she quips, and you turn back, beer in hand, just in time to see a smug glint in her eye. “I would know.”

God, how cute. You want to vomit. She was so damn _good_ at turning your words back at you.

You twist off the cap and toss it somewhere on the ground, strolling back into the room, careful to leave the coffee table between you and her.

“Living room,” you offer curtly, waving your bottle toward the left side of the nearby hallway. “Bathroom,” wave to the right, “bedroom.”

“Such a courteous host,” she mocks, sitting down on the couch. Immediately Bear leaps up with her, curling up in her much too small lap for him.

She just laughs and scratches between his ears. “I missed you too. Its been so long…Aren’t you a little old man by now?” she asks in her puppy voice.

You snort. “Technically.”

She gasps. “Is he…?”

“Dead? Yeah.”

Her smile is bright and wondrous. “We’re two peas in a pod then, huh?” she coos at him. “And our Sameen is more amazing than ever.”

 _Our_.

You shake your head to rid the word from in front of your eyes.

“Do you want one?” you ask, shaking the beer a little as indication.

She nods and smiles, and you retrieve one from the fridge, but when she extends her hand for it, you pause. Grimace.

Instead, you awkwardly place it down on the table, pretending you do not see her still extended hand.

 _Shit_.

How are you going to break it to her that she has to sleep in your room alone?

…

It’s like dodging death every ten seconds, she’s so goddamn _handsy_. You’ll be walking and there she goes, reaching for your hand, arm, shoulder _anywhere_ , and you have to leap away like you’re in a goddamn ballet.

It’s become like a sixth sense, intuitively learning to know when she is reaching for you, and frankly it _sucks_. Because it’s not like before when you would just let her, automatically and without thought, be it a gentle pat or a rough tug to get you where she wanted you. But now? Now you have to see those puppy dog eyes fall every single time. Like she is doing something wrong. Like she is beginning to think she’s diseased.

And honestly? You hadn’t ever thought you would actually _miss_ Root’s complete disregard for personal boundaries. But here you were. Wishing you could just… _let her_ touch you. Just once.

But that itch in the back of your head reminds you, no, you can’t because then you can’t listen to her cute attempts at seduction.

It’s after closing though, when things get out of hand.

You’re trying to distract yourself from how cute she looks in an apron by aggressively rolling out pie crusts. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your eyes always end up back on her. After the fourth time, she finally looks over at you, and you quickly look away.

Not quickly enough to miss her smirk though.

You can even hear it in her voice as she walks over. “I never thought I’d say this but you’re a messier baker than you are an eater. And that’s saying something.”

You do not realize what she’s doing until you see her fingers approaching your face a few inches away and you react on instinct. You jerk away, slamming the rolling pin on the table between the two of you so loud it echoes.

She jerks away like you had hit her instead.

“Sam, whatever is going on needs to _stop_ ,” ” she says roughly, “I was just trying to get the flour off your face.”

You cringe.

“Did I do something wrong?” she continues. “Because ever since you…y’know, brought me back? You’ve treated me like I’m goddamn radioactive and I deserve _answers_.”

You bite your lip hesitantly. Because she’s right. She does deserve answers. But she also deserves an apology. And you’re not quite sure which should come first.

“ _Sameen_ ,” she presses, and if she were anyone else, she would probably be crossing her arms like an indignant child.

But she just stands there expectantly, eyebrows raised.

It’s all too much. This goddamn perfect woman is back into your life and life has given you the shittiest hand of cards to play with her.

Groaning and rolling your eyes, you act, for the first time in a month. You yank on the edge of the industrial sized plastic wrap roll, tearing a piece off. In a fluid motion, you pull the edges of the piece taut and press it to her face, surging forward to kiss her through the thin layer of plastic.

God, it is so close to perfect.

 _So_ close. You can feel how warm she is, can feel the heat of her exhaled breath before she kisses back. But you can’t feel the softness you know her lips would feel like. You cannot taste her. You just get the slip of plastic and the stale taste to go with it.

Instinctually, she reaches to pull you closer, but reconsiders, balling her hands into fists and tucking her elbows against her sides. For the same effect, she instead pushes closer, stepping more into the kiss with a smile and a new press of lips.

And despite how close it is, it’s still as almost as everything else has been.

Almost.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and the plastic shifts against you as her lips twist into a smile.

When you pull back, the smile is still there, but her eyes are sad. “There’s a fine print to this alive-again thing, isn’t there?”

You press your lips together in a tight line, sighing through your nose, and for the first time, it’s you who reaches out for her, and you who has to pull yourself back.

“Yeah, Root. There is.”

…

“Shaw?” her voice is quiet in the darkness.

You prop yourself up despite the sleep still weighing down your limbs. You squint to find her form, just a shadow hanging in the doorway.

“Hmm? What is it?” you grumble scratchily.

When you try to sit up more, your muscles groan. The couch is not nearly as comfortable as you remember.

“I can’t sleep.”

Sighing, you wipe a hand over your face in hopes it will jumpstart your brain back into _awake_ mode. “Bad dreams?”

She is silent for a moment before she hums in confirmation. (she must have been nodding)

“Shit, okay give me your hand, _no_ don’t, just…”

She waits.

“Just…get back in bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You grab the few pillows and blankets you had brought into the living room as you clumsily get to your feet. You even scoop up the decorative throw pillows. You then turn toward the hallway.

“Crossing,” you tell her, and she responds, stepping out of your way.

“Following,” she whispers, and you know to be careful of the space behind you.

Tossing the array of pillows and blankets onto the bed, you also grab the remaining spares from the closet and throw them on too.

She watches intently as you crawl into bed and begin to build a barrier in the middle with the pillows.

When it appears to be crack-free, you cover yourself with the small blanket and lie still.

“Okay. Get in.”

She does, crawling under the covers you are on top of.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I…I can’t see you. I don’t know if…it’ll help.”

You smile under the cover of the darkness, rolling onto your side. “Come on, face me.”

The mattress dips as she rolls, the blanket underneath you pulling slightly.

“Tap a pillow by your hand.”

You wait until you see a pillow wiggling, and you very gently press against it. Tentatively she presses back, until you swear you can feel the shape of her handprint in the plush of the pillow.

You lie there for a few long and quiet minutes.

“Thank you,” she finally whispers, pressing just a little harder against the pillow. “I…I’m smiling.”

You exhale a laugh. “I know.”

“You do?” she asks quietly.

You nod, running your tongue along your lips before answering. “It’s in your voice, you know.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Rolling your eyes, you smack the pillow playfully. “You’re doing it now too.”

She is silent for a beat. “Can you really tell?”

“Of course. It’s kinda obvious, Root. All you have to do is listen.”

She grins wider. “You’ve always been good at that.”

“Goodnight, Root.”

“Goodnight, Sameen.”

…

ii.

She startles awake, gasping for air and flinging her arms so violently you have to step back to avoid her.

“That _bastard_ , I’m gonna _kill_ him,” she growls, sitting upright in her casket.

“Hate to break it to you sweetie, but I think he beat you to the punch.”

Her eyes dart to yours. “Root?!” She asks incredulously. “What’re you doing here?” But a quick glance around has her asking a different question. “No, what am _I_ doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak but she just barrels ahead.

“Wait, go back. Am I _dead_?”

In any other circumstance you would grab her upper arms and she would have immediately stopped her talking, but you really don’t want to make it a _permanent_ kind of no talking, so instead you take a small step closer.

“You were, yes.”

“And _you’re_ my welcoming party? Isn’t that rich.”

She snorts and hops out of the casket, surveying the surroundings. And God there are a million things you want to say to her. So many feelings you had never admitted, so many stories you hadn’t yet told, so many _ways_ to make her blush and grumble and pretend she didn’t like it, but you only have a minute (no, forty seconds now, maybe less)

“Listen, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you and it’s _kind of_ a now or never thing…”

She blinks. “Well you know its bad when Root isn’t being witty or coy.”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, trying not to wince. _Just do what you had practiced. Tell her, kiss her, go home._

You take a step closer. “The one regret I have in my life, Sam…” Another step, and she looks down at your lips for half a second. “…is waiting until it was too late to have the nerve to say…”

You pause, leaning closer, and it’s like she knows. She tips her chin up just a little, encouraging you closer to her lips.

But you freeze. The words won’t come, and your feet won’t take you that last step closer, and you pray. Hoping some God will hear you and have her fill that space for you. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter and inhale shakily and _just_ when you are about to, your watch beeps.

Your eyes fly open and you jerk back.

She narrows her eyes at you.

“You’re acting even more strange than usual.”

…

Eventually she finds out the truth and all the rules that come with it. Touching equals death. But it’s like she’s found a new game to play with you. A new button to push where she sometimes _flirts back_ to the point that you _ache_ to kiss her.

Physically ache to feel her skin.

She’s really not fair.

But you’ve found a way around it. Regular flirting gives her fuel. Really sappy and cute flirting gets her usual groaning and eye rolling.

It’s early in the morning, before customers come in and she is helping you prep some pies for the oven.

“Root, can you grab me a new bag of sugar?”

You grin at her smugly. “I think you’re sweet enough without it.”

She groans. “God, please no. It’s too early. I should still be in bed.”

“Mmm, sounds even sweeter.”

“Please just touch me now,” she glowers. “At least if I’m dead I won’t have to listen to you anymore.”

You faux gasp. “ _Never_.”

She turns around, a glint in her eye. “End my _suffering_ ,” she groans dramatically, dropping the dough she had in her hands and charging playfully across the room.

You giggle and run around the kitchen island. (she’s running slow enough that she’ll never _actually_ catch you)

“Come here and touch me, Root!” she calls, “Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted?”

You snag two oven mitts as you dodge her again, spinning around and catching her face in your clunky mitted hands, bending down and kissing her on the top of her beanie.

“There. Consider yourself touched.”

She frowns to cover a blush you swore you saw. “That is definitely not what I had in mind.”

You want to retort, but the front bell rings as someone enters. Sighing, she frowns deeper. “Duty calls.”

You conceal your smirk as she heads to the front of the shop. You’ll never tell her, but watching her try working as a server is one of the most comical things you’ve ever experienced.

But at least she was doing it for you.


End file.
